


Melancholia Comes Mid-January

by moodyghost



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Modern Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Swearing, im kind of emo guys cannot lie, no beta we die like men, whole gang is here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28861581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyghost/pseuds/moodyghost
Summary: She was one of the most promising up-and-coming violinists of her age, until the accident tore her away from her practice, leaving her incapable and unwilling to ever return to the public eye. He was one of the world’s most loved and celebrated modern composers and classical musicians, a callous and jaded man who kept his heart locked away behind walls of steel.She is drowning and alone. He is feeling stagnant in his craft.A chance encounter in an empty concert hall might have ended in negativity, but it certainly might be the start of something beautiful.
Relationships: Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s), Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader, Levi/Petra Ral, Levi/Reader, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. I Still Remain

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooooo~
> 
> here is something i've been thinking about for a little while, ooh angst I love the melancholic kind of fics. There are mature and darker themes in this, but I'll be sure to add TWs at the beginning of any chapters containing those things.  
> I did create an OC for this because I don't super enjoy the Y/N format but honestly feel free to use the extension that changes the name (obv), I know I would hehehe ;) she isn't described in any real detail on purposeeee~

Fate is the cruelest of mistresses.

She is fickle as fortune, yielding one way and to the other, never tiring, unpredictable.

She does not care for goodness or evil, for upstanding morality, for talent or practice or effort.

My mother told me once, when I was much younger than I am now, that the universe doesn’t see things the way that we do, in terms of black and white, good and evil. _The universe will never be spiteful to you, Vasochka, because it does not know what such a thing is. It will never give you good things or bad things._

 _There are only things that happen, and the way we deal with them is what makes them good or bad_ , she said.

I think that that was the cruelest thing she had ever said to me.

It is the tail-end of December, and the air is crisp and cool here, cold but not. It is cold enough that I see my breath as I walk, but not so cold that I need much more than my wool coat and leather gloves. This is my favourite weather: no rain, light snow.

The walk from my apartment to my favourite coffee shop is not long. I walk it every morning, and I think that by now my legs could probably walk it without me. This is the routine, every day, every morning, as it has been for the past three months. _Wake up at 6 am. Ten-minute walk to the coffee shop. Coffee. Home._

Rinse, repeat.

The bell rings above my head as I walk in, and the wave of warmth and the familiar scent of coffee and baking wraps itself around me like a hug, comforting as the colour yellow.

“Good morning, Vasya!” greets a familiar voice, and Marco, the owner, smiles at me from behind the counter.

“Good morning Marco,” I say, smiling too.

Sasha is in this morning as well, phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, most likely talking to suppliers, and she waves when she sees me, mouthing a quick “ _morning”_ between “yep, those too,” and “nah, we have that covered,”s on the line.

Though it feels odd to say, Sasha and Marco are the best friends that I’ve made in the city. They were kind from the beginning, though then it was more in the customer service kind of way and less the way that it has become now.

He holds up his largest mug, waving it in the air like a white flag. “Two milks one sugar?”

I nod, setting my book bag up on the bar counter and hopping up onto my usual stool, pulling out my laptop. “Could you add two extra shots of espresso, please?”

Marco laughs. “Rough night?”

I roll my eyes, pressing the power button on the side of my computer. “Rough _nights_ ,” I say, sighing. “This stupid fucking paper is giving me a headache. Why did I think that I wanted to take an honour’s program, again? I’m about ready to strap myself to a rocket and shoot it into space, if it means that I don’t have to finish this thesis.”

It’s not that I don’t like my program—quite the opposite, in fact. Since being a little girl, I’ve always wanted to go into Classical Studies. It’s just horrible and painstaking to write fifteen-thousand words on the political intricacies of the Second Punic Wars.

“Not dramatic at all,” Marco says with a smile.

“Caffeine is the best cure for headaches!” Sasha chirps from somewhere in the back.

Marco laughs again, punching my order into the POS system. “You want anything to eat?”

I shake my head, pulling up the massive thesis file. “Nah. Ate already.”

That’s a lie, but only because I’m genuinely not hungry. My stomach feels as though it’s twisting itself into complex sailors’ knots. Marco doesn’t believe in not being hungry in the morning. He tells me as much with the disbelieving look he gives me, making a small _hmph_ under his breath. I tap my card against the machine he holds out to me, giving him my most innocent smile. “Toast and butter,” I say. “Nothing better.”

There is a comfortable quietness that falls over us now, filled with nothing but the soft jazz music playing from the café’s speakers, and the clicking of my keys as I type, and the soft _whir_ of the coffee machine as Marco gets started on my order. Customers have begun to slowly filter in and out, though I don’t pay much attention to them. They sit at other tables and Sasha takes their orders, just like every other morning.

After a few minutes he slides the full, steaming mug over to me, accompanied by a plate upon which sits a lopsided, freshly baked, blueberry muffin. I shoot him a glare, and he raises both hands innocently. “It’s too ugly to actually sell.”

_Bastard._

“I would have eaten it,” Sasha whines as she comes back around, her phone call finished. She is tying on her apron, the same black one that Marco wears, but she has decorated hers with a collection of various colourful pins and iron-on patches, most of them having something to do with food.

Marco rolls his eyes. “We all know you’re going to take one anyway, lopsided or not.”

Her lower lip juts out. “I mean, true. But you don’t have to sound so accusatory when you say it.”

“So you’d rather I just took it out of your paycheck without saying anything at all?”

I smile into my coffee.

“I should just quit,” Sasha whines.

“You would end up in jail anywhere else, because that is called _thievery,_ Sasha.” Marco is smiling as he says it, though. We both know that Sasha is a hard worker. Hard working enough to excuse her food-swiping habits, at least.

“You’re starting that placement at the Musée d’Orsay soon, right Vasya?”

I look up from my computer screen, blinking. “Huh? Oh, um, yeah that’s right. Tomorrow’s my first day, actually.”

Marco raises both eyebrows. “No shit eh? You must be pretty pumped, no?”

I’m not exactly sure how to respond. He’s right and he isn’t. I’m happy that they wanted me, of course; the exhibit whose curator I’ll be shadowing is supposed to be incredible. But I also know myself, and I’m worried that some way, somehow, I’ll fuck this up.

So I just laugh, and I hope that he doesn’t hear the nervous tremor in it. “Yeah, I guess!”

“Oh my god, Vasya, I completely forgot! I was going to tell you about something!” Sasha’s hands eagerly form a wall between my eyes and my laptop screen, and I can do nothing but wince and be glad that I enabled auto-save as she snaps it shut.

“I— what?”

She’s nearly jumping on the spot, and I can’t even be that upset. Sasha’s just… like this. It’s not as though I would have gotten that much more done, anyways. My mind is turning itself inside out.

“There’s supposed to be that super famous classical musician performing, an exclusive evening event. Shit, what’s his name again…” she snaps her fingers. “Um, Lenny something? No, something with an ‘L’ though. Something Ackerman.”

“Levi Ackerman?” I supply drily. I have heard of him. I just don’t make a habit of keeping up with much at all in classical music scene, anymore.

“That’s the one! Apparently he was here, in Paris, visiting his sister or something, and they snatched him up for a performance. That’s pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah, for sure, Sasha, thanks.”

“I just thought you might want to know, since you like music and stuff, and he’s pretty famous and stuff.”

I don’t miss the subtle way Marco elbows her on his way passed, carrying a crate filled with milk cartons. I pretend to, though.

“Oh,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. My smile is small and forced. “Okay.”

I wish there was a way to make this moment better. But if there is, I don’t know it. So I turn back to my coffee, and finish my cup, tucking the muffin into my book bag for later. Marco and Sasha quietly go back to work. I lean my chin on the palm of my hand, scrolling through my phone, pretending to read messages, or something, mostly because I don’t want it to look as though I’m leaving because of the things that just happened.

And I’m not, I tell myself. It’s not because of that. Definitely not because of that.

So I take my time in standing up, and leave a five euro note tucked just under the cup, so that Marco won’t see it until I’m gone and won’t try to stop me from tipping him. I swing my bag over my shoulder, and Marco looks up from the machine. “I should get going, guys, thank you for the coffee!”

Marco nods, smiling. “Have a good day, Vasya. See you in the morning?”

“Ah, I’m not sure I’ll have the time to come before heading to the museum…”

“I can have it ready and waiting for you, if you’d like.”

Now I smile, and it is genuine. “That would be amazing, Marco. I could kiss you!”

He chuckles to himself, cleaning out the milk frother.

“Stop flirting!” Sasha yells, and we all laugh. Marco is like my brother, and he’s gay. It is a running joke, because the first time we met I had thought that he _was_ trying to flirt with me, until it became exponentially plain that that was _not_ the case; we are the furthest thing from flirting.

I shoot Sasha a kissy face. “If I was flirting with anyone, it would be you, Sash.”

Most of the other regulars are used to this by now; the other patrons just look on in amusement.

“Time to go suffer through this paper,” I say, heading for the door.

“Keep going until you find a way through,” Sasha says, singsong.

“Like Hannibal taking his elephants through the alps,” Marco jokes, filling the grinder with more beans.

I groan, pushing the door open with my shoulder, and I’m not joking at all when I say: “That would be easier than this.”

* * *

There are the days where the world feels hollow.

Not sad.

Not angry.

Not… _depressing._

Just hollow, and void of all things.

I realize that I’m exhausted by the time I get home. I dump my things onto the counter once I get into my apartment, and fall face first onto the couch. I hadn’t realized how much the interactions this morning had taken out of me. There’s no way I’m getting anything done on that paper today.

No fucking way.

The impending reality that my placement at the museum starts tomorrow begins to loom; it’s not as though I’m not grateful for the opportunity. I am, well and truly. It’s just… a lot.

And after everything Sasha said about _Levi Ackerman…_

 _It’s fine,_ I think, pressing my face further into the pillow. _Why would I have any reason to even run into the guy? Jesus Christ Vasya, pull yourself together._

The angry vibration of my phone pulls me up from the couch. _Unknown Caller_ flashes across the screen, and I frown down at it. I’m not expecting a call. It could be someone from the museum, I guess.

I quickly swipe the green button with my thumb.

“Hello?”

There is a crackling pause for a moment, and I roll my eyes, preparing to hang up. Another scam caller.

“Hi, so sorry to bother you, my name is Jeanne Dubois, from _Le Parisien._ _J’espère que je vous ai pris à un bon moment?_ ”

I frown, tucking the phone against my shoulder. Alarm bells are going off in my head. “It’s fine, now. May I ask why you’re calling?”

“Ah, yes. I’m actually wondering if I might be able to speak with Vasya Fedorov? I am writing a column on—”

“Sorry,” I cut her off, my heart beating. “You have the wrong number.”

“Oh, _désolée, ma chère. Passez une belle journée._ _”_

 _“Merci.”_ I say. “ _Vous aussi.”_

It takes everything in me not to throw my phone across the room. I fight back tears. _How do they always find my phone number?_

I don’t answer any more calls for the rest of the day.


	2. The Other Side of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the interest of uploading before I went to bed, I didn't have the chance to proof-read this lol, pls forgive me :')
> 
> I shall come back and edit when I get the chance!
> 
> Ok that's all good day!

Just as Marco had promised, a travel cup, extra-large and steaming, is waiting on the counter when I burst in the next morning.

“Thank you, Marco!” I say breathlessly, barely pausing to look at him.

“I’m putting it on your tab,” is all he says in return, smiling easily.

Cars aren’t necessarily all that practical in Paris, especially when you live here. I had invested in a small, powder blue Vespa instead, one that made me feel at once like the main character of some cheap rom-com and also, very slightly, just a _liiiittle_ bit lame.

I grew up around motorcycles; riding the vespa felt like riding a children’s bike in comparison.

But it was fun, and it was convenient, and decent on gas. And at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter all that much anyways.

My boss, head curator of the exhibit that I would be consulting on, had sent me a long and detailed email last night, outlining where I should go and anything I might need to know for my first day. _Zoe Hange._ They were incredibly enthusiastic, even in writing,

If nothing else, this placement would prove interesting. At best, it would turn into a permanent job position somewhere, a chance to move on, to forget, to reinvent. At worst, it would be a month-long funny story to tell Sasha and Marco.

I take a deep breath, turning down the street leading to the museum. Another deep breath.

There’s nothing to worry about, I tell myself. It’s a museum placement. For a course credit. _Calm the fuck down._

But there’s this nagging feeling, in the back of my brain, that just won’t let up.

One that is heightened and made all the more horrible by the massive crowd that has formed outside the front doors of the museum, all of people waiting impatiently to get inside.

I swear softly to myself under my breath. Of course. Of course my placement had to be in a place like this.

I park the Vespa in the designated area for employees, the authorization sticker bright white and red against the back plate. I swing the keys around my index finger.

The museum itself is not particularly hard to navigate, especially with all of Hange’s notes, and soon enough I find myself in the front hall of the exhibit I’m supposed to be heading. But a glance at my phone tells me that I’m early. I sigh. I overestimated the time it would take me to get here.

That realization comes with a little pinprick of guilt as well, because I made Marco make me a coffee early. And then I smile a little to myself, because I know that he was up at a stupid hour anyways. He was probably grateful for the distraction.

Glancing once more at my phone, I let myself wander around the exhibit for a little bit, strolling casually, finding myself impressed (albeit not surprised) by the vastness of it. It’s a collection called “Marvels of the Ancient World” with pieces on loan from everywhere around the world.

I am again, despite my apprehension, struck with magnanimous gratitude that I am here. Only a select few in my program, those of us who had the highest averages in our ancient languages and arts courses, had been allowed and invited to submit essays as interviews. It was frustrating, because I was genuinely excited about this opportunity, and at the time of submissions had been over-the-moon ecstatic about being selected.

And then my mind had taken in the grandeur of the thing, and had decided to shrivel in on itself and cower away. Like some sort of weak and cowardly clam. I snort.

It is a little sad though, I think, in looking at all of these wondrous artifacts, that they’re here and not where they belong. It’s wonderful that we’re able to see them; I just wish that we were able to see them in their places of origin.

Lost in thought, I stop myself right before bumping into someone. “Oh my god, so sorry!” I say, reaching my hand out, making to steady the person if I’ve knocked them.

The tall blond man merely smiles, and waves both my apology and my offered hand away. “No worries,” he says easily. He is handsome, I think, in a way that is intimidating and oddly reassuring. He’s really, really tall.

And then I refocus on the fact that the man is still standing in front of me, and smiling with amusement, considering me. I feel my ears twitch, and my cheeks heat up as I realize that I have also been staring at him. His eyes glance down to the laminated pass hanging from the lanyard around my neck, and his thick eyebrows raise slightly.

His eyes turn quizzical. I swallow, hoping that this moment is not going to turn into either of the dreaded scenarios that are currently playing out in my mind.

The first being that he’s going to recognize the name and ask about _Vasya Fedorov the violinist._

The second that he’s going to hit on me.

Just as he opens his mouth and makes to say something, however, another voice comes from behind me.

“Are you Vasya Fedorov?” the loud voice chirrups, and I turn to see a woman, her hair tied into a high ponytail and smoky glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. She is smiling widely already.

I cannot stop the smile that forms on my own face. I give a small, awkward wave. “Hi, yes, that’s me,” I say, turning to apologize once more to the tall blonde man. But when I do, I see that he’s already walking away. Very, very strange.

“I’m Hange!” she exclaims, and, with no forewarning, throws an arm around my shoulder, spinning us both around and marching back the way she came. “And you are right on time,” she adds. “Come along, my newest victim, meet the other new recruits before the toiling starts!”

She cackles loudly, and despite the eccentricity of her, and the overwhelming feeling of being incredibly out of my depth, I cannot stop the way that the corners of my mouth tug upward.

**

I’ve always had trouble making friends.

Maybe not _making_ friends, I suppose, but _keeping_ them. Not because I’m not nice. Or at least, I don’t think that that’s it. There are sometimes where, admittedly, I can be abrasive. I will admit to having issues with linear communication, and to the occasional bout of callousness. But I don’t think I’m _mean._ At the very least, not any more than the average person.

There have been lots of other reasons. School was not a thing that lasted very long. At least, not in the traditional sense. As soon as my parents figured out that I could do wonderful things on instruments they pulled me out and hired personal tutors and teachers to come to our home, that I might take my curriculum between piano or violin or singing lessons.

Once high school started is when we started moving. A lot. I felt like a flat rock on a still lake; _skip, skip, skip, skip_. In hindsight, the… _accident_ seems nearly inevitable. Stones cannot skip on momentum forever. Sinking is a guaranteed inevitability for a skipping stone.

I swallow this thought, and all of the memories that come with it. It is a practiced sort of thing. If I start getting too close, my mind will remind me not to stray too far into the murky blackness.

“—Vasya?”

I blink. “Sorry, yeah?”

The blonde boy who had introduced himself as Armin smiles at me sheepishly, holding out a Styrofoam cup filled with steaming tea. I thank him, taking it gingerly. Earl Grey. The only kind of tea that I like.

“I don’t want to impose or anything,” he says, fiddling with the rim of his own half-empty cup. “You just kind of looked spaced out, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I am disarmed by his kindness. “Oh, yes, so sorry. I was just lost in thought.”

He nods, and moves to sit on the chair next to me, so that we both survey the break room Hange had swept me into, bustling with all of the other interns and placement students waiting for our next instructions. There is a surprising amount of us. It makes me feel a lot better, somehow.

“So what program are you in?” I ask, taking a tentative sip of tea. It’s not really that good, but I guess one can’t expect all that much from cafeteria-style carafe tea.

“Oh, I’m studying Egyptian classics,” he says. “There’s this really incredible field school in the UK that takes students in master’s programs at Ivy Leagues or their equivalents. It’s pretty competitive though, obviously, so stuff like this looks really good on applications.”

His eyes widen. “Ah, but I don’t mean for that to sound cocky or anything! I’m just really excited. I don’t really know if I’ll actually get in.”

I laugh despite myself. “Don’t worry, Armin. I won’t tell anyone you’re secretly super full of yourself.”

“I—no wait that’s not… please don’t think of me like that I promise…”

I laugh again, throwing back the remaining dregs of tea. “I’m joking, Armin.”

“Oh, right,” he says, and I don’t miss the relief in his voice. He clears his throat. “So, uh, what program are you in?”

“Roman History and Latin,” I say, fiddling with my lanyard. “I have no idea what I want to do, though. Maybe get my PhD and teach.” I sigh. “Who fucking knows. Hell, maybe I’ll end up working here.”

Armin sighs too, and nods. “I feel that.”

Just then, Hange steps up to the front of the room, clapping her hands more loudly than I thought humanly possible. “RECRUITS!” she bellows, and in a split second the room has fallen completely silent. I’m admittedly impressed.

She grins widely, and throws her arms open. “Thank you all so much for being here. If you have not had the pleasure of meeting me yet, I am Zoe Hange, and I will be your supervisor, aka your boss, for the entirety of your work here! We were truly humbled and grateful for all of your wonderful applications, and the eagerness you displayed to get here. I will tell you now, this job is not necessarily easy. There’s a loooot of work that goes on behind the scenes, as you will come to find, and many thankless late nights. We like to work hard here, and we would love for you to join us in that.” Her grin widens, if it’s possible, and she pushes her smoky glasses up onto her head, pulling back her hair. “As the saying goes, my friends, we work hard, and we play hard too. But don’t think that you’ll get the fun without the effort. Sow the seeds, reap the rewards. _Vous comprenez?_ ”

There’s a noise of unanimous approval that rattles through the crowd of us, and Hange nods appreciatively, clapping her hands together once more.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she says. “We like initiative here, too. Don’t be afraid to do things. If you’re unsure, ask one of our lovely staff members for advice. But don’t be shy to make your own decisions about things. It is also a Hange-certified promise that I will know every single one of your names before the month is out!”

She checks her watch quickly. “Alright, boring stuff over. Take today to get oriented, meet your new colleagues, get settled. I release you to the wild, my friends! Good luck, godspeed!”

With that, she laughs in a way which can only be described as maniacal, and slips out of the big room, leaving behind a rippling effect of chatter. Armin gives me a nervous smile, and I return it.

 _Okay._ I think as we all file out of the room. _Okay. Off to a good start. No stress. No stress, Fedorov; we got this._

_I’ve got this._

Though most of my position entails paperwork and behind-the scenes affairs, Hange did not lie about how painful and arduous this position could be. I think, more than once, that my hand is going to fall off, and the number of times that I have had to tell other people that I, just like them, don’t actually know what I’m doing, is ridiculous. But it’s fun, in its own strange way.

Repetitive, clerical work. Requires thinking but not too much. Though I’m sure that it won’t stay this way, for now it’s quite nice. It keeps my mind busy. Writing down serial codes, reconfiguring exhibit layouts, cross-checking fact sheets and researching new ones. It’s nothing that I haven’t done before, which is, admittedly, very nice.

People filter in and out of the exhibit, a few of them stopping me as I pass to ask questions. I am grateful that for the most part, they ask Armin, or Mikasa, another girl interning.

I meet some other people working the same exhibit as I am, all just as nice as Armin, though all in different ways. When I cross Armin again, he asks if I’d like to go out for drinks with them later this week.

“You should absolutely join us, Vasya! It’s going to be a lot of fun, and it’s a good way to get to know your coworkers, I think!”

I smile at him. “Sure, Armin. I’d love to.”

I don’t think that I’ve ever actually gone out for drinks with anyone before.

By the time I take a break to check the clock, nearly seven hours have passed. I slump into a chair in the break room, exhausted beyond belief. My feet ache, and my head is starting with a dull pounding. It’s definitely just as much work and running around as Hange had promised.

The thought of collapsing into my bed is enough to spur me into getting the last hour over with. I don’t get so far, though. I’m just finishing up transcribing another serial number when Hange bursts in to the small office, waving her hands madly around.

“Vasya, oh, thank god! I need a really big favour. Like suuuuper huge,” she cries, running over to grasp both of my shoulders. I chuckle nervously.

“What’s… ah, what’s up, Hange?”

Her eyes are wild, as though something really horrible has happened, and my stomach drops. Maybe something _has_ happened. Maybe I have, voluntarily or not, fucked something up. I swallow. When she speaks, her voice is a whisper, and her eyes dart around nervously.

“Look, I usually wouldn’t ask this of a newbie. But…” she sighs, pulling away to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I messed something up. Like, kind of a lot, and I was hoping that you might be willing to give me a hand with something.”

 _Oh, thank god._ I smile, nodding, setting my pen down on the desk. “Yeah, for sure. No problem.”

“You are a godsend! Okay, so here’s the deal. I promised… _someone_ that I would get tea for… _someone else._ And I completely forgot to do that.”

I blink. “Don’t we have tea in one of the big carafes?”

She stares at me blankly for a moment, and then bursts out laughing, as though I’ve just said something funny. But there is genuine fear in her eyes when she sobers. “Yes… there is. That’s the problem.”

“Okay… so did you want me to run out and grab tea?”

“Oh, bless your soul you wonderful thing! But no, alas, there is quite literally no time for that. I can’t leave right now, because I completely overbooked myself and I have so, so, _so_ much paperwork that needs to be done before close today. So I was wondering if you might be able to… bring this person their tea. In a Styrofoam cup. From a carafe.”

Her last words bring with them a growing fear in her voice and eyes. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Hange, I’m sure that they’ll understand.”

“Oh, you would think so, right?”

She laughs softly to herself again, before placing a hand on my shoulder.

“You can take off early once you’ve dropped it off, as well. As a thank you. And an apology.”

For a moment, anxiety gnaws at me. How horrible can this person be, if they’ve got Hange this freaked? Then again, Hange doesn’t seem like the eternally stable type. She’s… eccentric. Which is a good thing. I like eccentric people. So I give her a reassuring smile, because I’ve come to like her quite a lot in the seven and some-odd hours that I’ve been working with her.

“Yeah, no worries! I’ve got it.”

I almost think she might start openly weeping. She flings her arms around me, giving me a quick, squeezing hug. “You are quite literally an angel. A blessing. A godsend—”

I pat her back. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She circles the location on the map, and gives me a quick (and honestly confusing) set of directions. Once she’d finished, she hands me the Styrofoam cup, steaming and piping hot, and gives me a mock salute.

“I wish you luck, soldier. Godspeed.”

Smiling, I return the salute. “Leave it all to me, Captain.”

It’s not until I’m out into the hallway that I look down at the map, and my stomach drops. No, drops is a gargantuan understatement. It wilts, it shrivels, it ties itself into a series of complex and indiscernible knots and tries to choke the life out of my from the inside.

She’s circled the concert hall.

I take a deep breath. _Whatever,_ I tell myself. I don’t care.

Because I don’t.

I repeat these words to myself as I walk, because if I say them enough times, they’ll come true. Or something.

But maybe they do; the concert hall is blessedly dark and empty when I arrive. I breathe a sigh of immense relief. _Maybe god is real._

I push the door open with my hip, stepping into the blessed darkness.

It’s been years since I’ve stepped foot in a concert hall. It’s been years since I’ve held a violin. I know that it’s self-inflicted. I _know_ that.

But it is a fact that I cannot repeat enough. It is a fact that I’ve never been able to force myself to believe.

I walk carefully up the steps leading onto the concert platform, taking a deep breath. I see a table. I set the tea down. I close my eyes.

It’s strange, because before the accident, there was nowhere I would rather be than on stage. Music, as much as it was frustrating and heartbreaking and horrible at times, despite the nights that I spent crying, telling myself that I was quitting forever, was the place where I could dream. It was my place, and mine alone.

My mother, my instructors, they could nitpick all they wanted, they could nag and gripe and berate me. But as soon as I picked up my bow, and felt the familiar wood and strings in my hands, the pressure beneath my chin, I was free. There was no one who could take those moments away from me.

I was myself, then.

Now, I am broken.

“Oy. Brat. Who the hell are you?”

It takes a moment for me to realize that I have stepped up to the middle of the stage, my hands floating, as though holding some phantom violin. But they do not shake.

Quickly, I snap them back down to my sides. I blink at the man who just spoke. He is relatively short, with black hair cropped neatly into an undercut, pushed back as though he had just run his hands through it. He’s kind of good looking, my brain thinks for a passing, fleeting moment.

But he’s also glaring at me, his eyes cold and hard.

“I… um… I’m sorry I just—”

“Do you now know how to answer questions? I asked who you were.”

I swallow. “Sorry. I’m an intern, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just dropping something off.”

His glare does not falter. I want to shrink and keep shrinking, until I completely disappear.

“And you thought to yourself, my, it would be a wonderful idea to pretend to be some… _violinist,_ in the middle of the stage here? Is that it? You thought, _wouldn’t it be a good idea to stay here in this place where I don’t belong?”_

He does not know me, and I don’t know him, but the words sting in a way he does not realize. My hands were not shaking before. Now they are. I shove them into the pockets of my blazer, hoping that he does not see. I do not know what to say. My eyes sting.

He makes a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair. “Jesus, haven’t you been taught any manners? Get off my stage, brat. Before I call security.”

 _Fuck you,_ I want to spit at him, because he’s being an asshole for no good reason. _His stage? Give me a goddamn break._

But I don’t say that, because I know that I will start crying as soon as I open my mouth.

If this was the man Hange sent the tea for, I understand why she was so terrified. I chew at the inside of my cheek, withering under his gunmetal gaze. I’ve met people like him before. I know people like him. Hell, maybe at some point I _was_ people like him.

I turn away, so that he cannot see my eyes, which have begun to water. “Zoe Hange sent me to deliver that tea,” I mutter, and then hurry away.

It takes everything in not to sprint to my bike, and by then, the tears fall with a heady fervour.


	3. It's Really Raining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYE YO sorry for the lack of update last week... i promise there is a reason!! 🤧🤧
> 
> My roommate and I were discussing our fave AUs and I remembered that Post Apocalyptic is a thing (not like zombies but like Mad Max vibezz) and that shit hit different..... and next thing i know i have like 10k words on a new LevixReader BAHAHA
> 
> soooo on that note i shall be posting the first few chaps of that at some point, I will be writing it at the same time as this so check it out if you are so inclined! It's called "A Season of Dry Rain" ;)
> 
> ANYWHOO, enjoy this more light-hearted chapter and I'll see you next weeeeeeeeek (¬‿¬)

“I’m telling you, Vasya, if I ever get my hands on this asshole, I’m beating him up. I’ll do it. I don’t care. I’ll beat him up.”

I laugh at Sasha’s angry voice coming through my phone, half because I know that she genuinely would, half because it’s a complete overreaction.

“It’s fine, Sash. I’ve met so many people like him.”

“He made you cry!”

I frown, my fingers drawing idle circles on the sofa cushion beside me. “ _He_ didn’t make me cry. I was just… whatever, okay? I was just really tired and stressed out and it’s really not that big of a deal. I’m never gonna see the guy again anyways, so it’s fine.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can just picture her slamming a fist repeatedly into a pillow. “That’s stupid.”

I sigh. “I know, Sasha.”

“And he’s a dick.”

“I know, Sasha.”

She sighs loudly. “Well, either way. I did want to apologize for like… bringing that musician guy up yesterday. Marco reminded me that I’m an idiot. So yeah, sorry about that.”

My finger pauses in its easy pattern. I stare deep into the grain of the wood. “Yeah it’s cool, it’s fine.”

“But that shit’s _not_ cool. I should have been more thoughtful.”

“It’s fine Sasha, really. Please don’t apologize.”

I feel that she’s going to say something more, but to be honest, after today, I’m not super into the thought of talking about this at length right now. “We really don’t have to talk about it.”

“Yeah, alright.”

We sit in silence for a moment, though it’s the easy kind. I think that that is one of the things I like most about being friends with Sasha; being friends with her is not complicated. There is no pressure. Sometimes I feel as though that’s because she doesn’t really _know_ me.

We talk for a little while longer, about things that don’t matter all that much, I complain about my thesis, she half-heartedly complains about work. She tells me that Connie, her long-time best friend, is coming to visit.

“He’s the best,” she says, and I feel some small guilt at the excitement in her voice. “I feel like you guys will get along really well.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

It’s eleven o’clock now, and we’ve talked about all of the things that friends talk about on the phone, and though there is the underlying fact that we’ve nearly crossed the line into unspoken territory, I’m used to the questions, and I’m used to ignoring them. Sasha doesn’t ask about it again, and for that, I’m grateful.

“Well,” she sighs. “I should probably get going. It’s passed my bed time.”

“Old lady,” I tease, and she gasps with mock affront.

“Excuse me, _ma’am,_ I am a working woman. And I have an opening shift tomorrow, at _six in the motherfucking morning._ ”

I laugh. “Marco should pay you extra.”

“I know! The man is a sadist with assigning shifts, let me tell you.”

“He really just oozes evil, doesn’t he?”

Marco is one of the sweetest people I know.

“He does,” she says gravely. I laugh again.

“Night, Sash.”

“Goodnight, Vasya! Oh, you coming in tomorrow morning?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, I guess so. I was super early this morning, way overestimated how long it would take me to get there.”

“Damn, you _guess?_ And here I was, about to offer you free coffee n’ shit.”

“As if Marco would let you give away free product to me.”

“You’re right! I’m gonna do it anyways now, just because. This is what he gets for scheduling me to open every day for this week.”

“This is literally your job, Sasha. You applied.”

“Yeah, and what about it?”

I grin. “Goodnight, Sasha. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night!”

**

**[Caffeine Fiends** **🧎** **♀️** **☕]**

_11:17 pm_

**Sasha:** y’all, I’ve had a thought

 **Vasya:** that’s a new one.

 **Sasha:** bitch this is about you don’t start with me

 **Vasya:** I thought you were going to bed

 **Sasha:** I was! and then I had this thought

 **Marco:** …

 **Sasha:** ok so I was just thinking about how depressing it is that Vasya has no friends other than the people who work at the café she frequents

**Vasya:** **😑**

**Vasya:** … ma’am.

 **Sasha:** yes queen?

 **Marco:** Sasha that was kind of rude. 

**Sasha:** I will be reading you next Marco relax

 **Sasha:** AS I WAS SAYING. Vasya has no friends.

 **Vasya:** is there a point to this or are you just going to roast me 

**Vasya:** because if so I'm putting this bitch on DND and also blocking your number

 **Sasha:** ok chill chill 

**Sasha:** so we're your only friends. BUT we don't have to be

 **Vasya:**...

 **Vasya:** oh Marco side note I meant to text u earlier, the muffin was delicious tysm! 🥺

 **Vasya:** I will be paying you for it tho 

**Marco:** No you won't! Glad you liked it though I'll make them again

 **Vasya:** sir... 

**Sasha:** don't ignore me

 **Sasha:** hello

 **Sasha:** i'm the one who started this convo

 **Vasya:** get to the point then 🙄

 **Sasha:** FINE bruh jesus ok so Connie is coming up right

 **Sasha:** and he told me that a few of his friends are coming up w him becasue they're like road tripping or wtv

 **Sasha: *** BECAUSE

 **Sasha:** you can't roast me for that one i corrected myself

 **Vasya:** because

 **Marco:** Becasue

 **Sasha:** ANYWSY his friends are coming up, and now is a good chance to make FRIENDS and also to maybe get someeee 

**Vasya:** ANYWSY

 **Vasya:** ma'am I'm fine with the friends i have and also not really looking to _get some_

 **Sasha:** dumb ur horrible with people and alsoooo u are literally a fucking nun baby 

**Vasya:** and??? maybe I don’t wanna have sex

 **Sasha:** so ur telling me you don't get ... h*rny 😳

 **Vasya:** why did u censor that

 **Vasya:** also bitch why aren't u getting on Marco about this too ?

 **Sasha:** censored because i am a child of god... Marco is already getting some so he's fine 

**Sasha:** u, on teh other hand, are not

 **Marco: C** an y'all go the fawk to sleep i'm getting annoyed by the notifs

 **Vasya:** WAIT marco you're getting some and did not tell me?

 **Marco:**...

 **Marco: G** o to bed

 **Marco: S** asha u better not be bitching in the morning about being tired

 **Vasya:** MARCO?!?!?!?!

 **Vasya:** hello sir u cannot leave me hanging like this

 **Sasha:** mofo went to sleep

 **Vasya:** lameeee ok wtv 

**Vasya:** i'm going to bed 

**Sasha:** lol same

 **Sasha:** this convo ain't over tho 😔

**Vasya:** **😐**

**Sasha:** gn bestie! 😚

******

Sasha does make good on her promise the next morning, and there is an extra large steaming cup of coffee sitting ready for me on the counter by the time I breeze in, taking my usual stool up at the bar. Despite her lack of sleep and the early hour, Sasha’s demeanor is devilish and energetic as she goes about prepping things for the day, smiling evilly at me over her shoulder every once in a while.

“What,” I deadpan, looking up from my phone.

She gives me a cheeky grin. “Nothing.” She pauses. “Connie and his friends are coming up next week.”

I sigh, going back to scrolling through twitter. The musician, _Levi Ackerman,_ is trending. I scroll past it quickly.

“I wasn’t joking last night, Sasha. I’m really not looking for hookups right now.”

“That’s what Marco said too, before meeting—” her mouth clamps shut.

My eyes widen. “Wait, so Marco is actually seeing someone? What the fuck? Why did no one tell me this?”

Sasha shrugs sheepishly. “You’re not always the easiest person to have conversations with, Vasya. No offense or anything.”

I roll my eyes. “None taken. But seriously, someone could have told me.”

“I can hear you both!” Marco shouts from the back, though it’s a half-hearted warning.

I will admit that Sasha’s right. Sometimes conversations are hard for me to uphold. I frown. I think that I was being pretty good last night, though. “How long has this been going on?”

Sasha shrugs, chucking a towel over her shoulder. “Dunno. I introduced them like… what was it Marco? Three months ago?”

“Two and a half months ago.”

She nods. “Two and a half months ago. Honestly I didn’t even know that they had taken it anywhere until like last week.”

“This is one of Connie’s friends, then?”

She nods again, more enthusiastically. “Like I said, he’s got some fine friends.”

“You date them, then,” I grumble, taking a long drink of coffee. She scoffs.

“None of them could handle me, friend. I’m more of a free—”

She is cut off by the bell above the door chiming, signaling the entrance of a customer, and Sasha’s face takes on her customer service face, chipper and friendly.

“Good morning again, gentlemen. What can I get started for you today?”

 _Morning again?_ I frown into my coffee, checking the time on my phone. It’s still just barely past seven o’clock, and usually on the weekdays no one is here at this time by me, and the odd few other regulars. Sasha always calls them by name, though.

I shift slightly in my seat, eyes flickering over, attempting to steal a surreptitious glance. I am surprised to see the tall blonde man from the exhibit yesterday, his blue eyes easy and kind as before, but it is the person standing slightly behind him that gives me pause. _Dear mother of god._

It’s him. The asshole.

I am torn, suddenly, between wanting to yell profanities and wanting to curl up in a hole and die. Holy shit. Holy shit. _Of all the people in the world—_

I reposition myself on the stool so that I’m facing away from them, opening my phone again. My mind races, trying to formulate a plan of escape.

“One large black coffee and a medium loose-leaf Oolong, please, Sasha.”

This I recognize to be the voice of the tall blonde man. I groan inwardly. _God, Jesus, whoever… I promise to start believing in you if you get me out of this. I’ll go to church. I’ll sing all the songs. I’ll do whatever else religious people do if you just get me out of this absolute mess._

“Vasya?”

Sasha’s voice makes my lips thin, my spine straighten involuntarily. I give her a tight-lipped smile. “Mhm?”

I can feel their eyes on me, though I cannot bring myself to look. Either I’m a coward, or a powder keg about to explode. At the moment, I’m not sure if there’s all that much of a difference.

“Marco wants to know if you want another one of the blueberry muffins.”

I blink, because Marco has peaked his head out from the back, and both he and Sasha are giving me strange looks. I drain the rest of my coffee, pushing away from the counter.

“Ah no, that’s alright. Thanks Marco. I should get going.”

“Didn’t you say last night that you were super early yesterday?”

I grit my teeth. “Yeah, well, good to be early to places. I’ll see you later.”

I swing my bag hurriedly over my shoulder, trying not to look _too_ much like I’m escaping, which of course I am. I don’t want to seem rude, though. I stand. As I’m making my way to the door, however, I make eye contact with the tall blonde man, and his eyes widen just a bit. A smile of recognition spreads over his face. His asshole of a companion isn’t paying attention, blessedly, but staring out one of the café’s windows.

“I’m sorry if this seems to be an odd question, miss, but is your name by any chance Vasya Fedorov?”

My throat goes dry. Even Sasha and Marco have paused, though they quickly resume working. I shoot Sash a _help me_ glance, but she’s too absorbed in whatever she’s doing. I plaster a bland, polite smile on my face, and give a small nod.

“Yes, it is indeed.”

His eyes light up, and he claps his friend on the shoulder. There’s a strangeness to seeing them standing next to one another, partly because the blond man is so much taller, partly because he seems to also be a lot more kind.

“I told you it was her, Levi,” he says, and _Levi_ finally turns to look at me. A wave of dread washes down my throat, through my stomach; it is quickly chased by a wave of anger when he does little more than lift an eyebrow.

“Guess so,” he says, and his voice is just as unimpressed and flat as the look in his eyes.

_Lovely._

The tall man’s eyes take on a near apologetic light, as though he knows exactly how his friend comes across. He reaches a hand out to me, and my hand is shaking as I take it. It’s not nerves, though.

“My name is Erwin Smith,” he says, and though I recognize the name, I cannot exactly place it. “I meant to introduce myself yesterday, but I realized that you were at work, and didn’t wish to impose.”

He laughs, and it is the kind of laugh that sets people at ease, the kind of laugh that is infectious. I’m not much in the mood for laughing now, though. I feel out of breath.

“I’m a friend of Hange’s,” he supplies. “I know how they can be when they’re at work.”

I nod, smiling uncomfortably, fidgeting with a strap on my bag. “Yeah, I got that kind of impression. Wonderful person, though. It’s a pleasure working with them.”

Sasha finishes up their drink orders, and blessedly comes over, some of the tension in my stomach breaking. She gives me an inquisitive look. I grit my teeth. Erwin slides the tea over to Levi, who takes it with a small _thanks,_ turning back to look out the window. I really need to get out of here. I eye the door, wondering if it would be rude of me to just dart out.

“Oh, yes. The reason I asked,” Erwin says suddenly, taking a drink of his coffee. “I realize that this is probably strange, and incredibly forward of me. But do you currently have a performance manager?”

_Oh. Fuck. My. Life._

I had been right yesterday, then. And now, my mind going a mile a minute, I finally realize where I recognize the name _Erwin Smith_ from.

He’s a pretty big name in the classical music world, for many reasons. The first being that he is infamously ruthless when it comes to his clients, and good at getting exactly what he wants.

The second being that he is the manager of Levi Ackerman. Which means…

I groan inwardly. _Of course. Of. Fucking. Course._

I give him a tight smile, taking this opportunity to pull the keys from my pocket. “Sorry,” I say, and though I try my best to keep my voice civil, my tone is clipped and short. “I don’t perform at all anymore.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, well. Life happens.”

Just as I am about to make my final attempt at escape, he says one more thing. “Nevertheless, it’s lovely to meet you. And I’m sure that you’ve heard of my client here, Levi Ackerman?”

Levi turns back again, his face just as deadpan as before. He takes an unimpressed drink of his tea.

“We’ve met,” is all he says.

I want to punch him square in the jaw.

“Sorry,” I say instead of doing that, because I have known men like him for my entire life, and there are more ways than one to take them down a peg or two. “I don’t believe I’ve heard the name before. If you’ll excuse me.”

Without pausing again, I walk toward the door. I turn one last time, and am glad that I do; Levi’s face is stormy, and I know that I’ve hit some sort of nerve. Erwin is still smiling pleasantly, as though he is enjoying this very much indeed.

“Bye, Sash, Marco,” I call, not breaking eye contact with Levi _motherfucking_ Ackerman. “Gentlemen. Pleasure.”

“The pleasure was ours,” says Erwin.

I am smiling as I get on my bike, and make for the museum.

**

**[Caffeine Fiends** **🧎** **♀️** **☕]**

_7:38 am_

**Sasha:** VASYA

 **Sasha:** VASYA

 **Sasha:** VASYA

 **Sasha:** VASYAAAAAAAAAAAA

 **Vasya:** what. i just got to work.

 **Sasha:** WAS THAT

 **Sasha:** THE FUCKGIN

 **Sasha:** ASSHOLE?!?!?!?!?!?!!?

 **Vasya:** yep.

 **Sasha:** EHY DIDN’Y U SAY ANYTHING

 **Sasha:** ALSO WHY DID U NOT TELL ME THAT THE ASSHOLE WAS LEVI ACKERMAN?!?!?!?

 **Vasya:** 1\. I didn’t know who he was. 2. what exactly was I supposed to do? “hey sasha, marco, this is the asshole who yelled at me for lingering on a concert platform and also for bringing shitty tea that I had absolutely zero part in making?”

 **Sasha:** I mean… yes?

 **Marco:** Wait… who’s the asshole? I thought you said you didn’t know this guy

 **Vasya:** I don’t. I honestly wouldn’t have said anything, because I’m kind of over it

 **Vasya:** but he was being a fucking prick this morning too, and I am fucking sick of men like him, with their heads so far up their own asses that they forget how to communicate like human beings

 **Marco:** I mean fair enough.

 **Sasha:** ngl he looked rly hurt LOL kind of iconic of you

 **Marco:** yeah lol kind of felt bad for the guy honestly

 **Marco:** Not anymore though! If he’s an asshole.

 **Sasha:** maybe he isn’t an asshole? maybe he’s just shy

 **Sasha:** shy boyyyy 😚

 **Vasya:** unlikely.

 **Sasha:** yo lowkey though why was he kind of foine

**Sasha: 👀👀👀👀**

**Marco:** yes very true

 **Sasha:** enemies to lovers type beat

 **Sasha:** wait that’s actually rly hot 😏

 **Vasya:** no.

 **Vasya:** stop texting me. I’m at work.

 **Sasha:** stop answering then

_8:06 am_

**Sasha:** I was joking bbg come back plsss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok side note why is "o'clock" such a weird word
> 
> also that gc was heavily based on one of my own groupchats w my friends lawd i needed some fluffy jokes content;; i was inspired to write this shit by firelordes on their fic "Of Teachers and Teacups" which u should def go read bc it is.... *chef's kiss*
> 
> it probably won't come back tho big rip i just wanted to write something light-hearted 😔


	4. Rose Bud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all 😳
> 
> pls forgive me for the wait - life was KICKING my ass for a bit so honestly getting back to this is free serotonin LOL  
> to apologize, have a double update WOOO chap. 5 will be up a bit later this week!!!!!!!!
> 
> This is the last chapter for like the setup, so from next chapter on it's all steep drops and loop de loops baby (and also i've made y'all wait long enough Levi is in basically every chapter going forward haha)
> 
> WARNING for this chap + moving forward, there will be mentions of mental illness, meds, etc etc. this will all be dealt with with the utmost care, not to worry friends. 
> 
> ANYWAYS. This one goes out to @ficbunnyKay & @xofrankiox for leaving literally the SWEETEST fookin comments of all time (i'm not joking im still crying)
> 
> here ya go!!

_I don’t usually remember my dreams._

_It is usually a gaussian blur of colours and sounds, and that familiar, horrible, malevolent pit that sinks to the bottom of my stomach, pulling me down, down, down, like a stone._

_When I do remember them, they are almost always the same; the feeling of the car’s steering wheel, my violin as a passenger. Sometimes I’m playing it and driving at the same time, and even though I try to stop playing to grab the steering wheel, my hands are glued to the bow and the strings and the feeling of it tucked up beneath my chin. I’m playing so fast my fingers are bloody. And then I can’t do anything when the truck comes, and my car starts to fishtail._

_Tonight, for the first time since the accident, I am not alone in the car._

_Levi Ackerman sits in the passenger seat, scowling as I play, watching me watch the road with his disapproving eyes._

_“The fuck are you doing here, brat?” he says._

_And then I’m crying, and the truck’s laying on the horn…_

When I open my eyes, my hands are clenched. My body is sweaty. My lungs gasp for breath, but I cannot fill them quickly enough. For a moment, my limbs cannot move at all.

And then I am sitting up, and leaping from my bed as though something has burned me. I fumble around in the dark for my dresser, and the familiar shape of the pill bottle, and I curse myself silently. I’ve been forgetting to take my meds.

I tap my phone’s screen twice. _3:47 am._

Fuck.

Sighing, I flop back onto my bed. If I were the same person I had been before, I might have gone out and played scales. Now, I drag my laptop toward me from its place on the nightstand, and hit the power button. Might as well get some work done.

* * *

The rest of the week is almost mocking in its mundanity.

Every morning, I get to the café, and order my coffee, and chat with Marco and Sasha about things that don’t really matter at all. And every morning, like clockwork, Erwin and Levi will waltz through the door, and the mood will become vastly more uncomfortable.

Erwin, I have come to realize, suffers from what I have come to call _chronic pleasantness._ He is always cordial, always polite and charismatic and warm. It is almost frustrating; I’ve always had a hard time trusting people who are always in a good mood.

On the flipside, however, is _Levi Ackerman._ Because if Mr. Smith suffers chronic pleasantness, the musician suffers the exact opposite. I had tried my best to swallow my pride, to smile at him when he would come in, to offer him a short, good morning. He’d never offered much more than a steely stare, turning back to his tea, or leaving altogether.

Sometimes he’d make uncalled for comments about the café’s state of cleanliness, which would earn him a wince from Sasha and Marco. I’d even seen him receive a phone call one day, and he’d glared at the caller ID on the screen for a moment before answering with a _“what the fuck do you want”_.

That was the day I’d sent Sasha a look that said: _“see?”._ She’d been holding onto this idea that maybe he was a nice person after all, just having a bad day.

Now, at least, he’s started to make some acknowledgement to us when he walks through the door. His preferred method of greeting, it seems, is a grunt and a nod. If he weren’t such a frustrating person I would almost find it funny, imagining Erwin sternly telling him that saying good morning is a basic human decency, even if it does come across as a bit archaic.

And so every morning I drink my coffee, and I make small talk with Erwin, and I pretend not to notice the way Levi eyes me warily from over the rim of his cup. Sasha doesn’t even pretend not to notice. She’s still caught up in her pipe dream about getting me laid, despite my vehement denial of needing help or support (re: harassment) in that department.

_If I want to get laid I will get laid, Sasha._

The internship is good too, for all that it is. Hange is wonderful to have as a boss, and after hearing of what had happened with Levi, they apologized so profusely that I felt bad.

So it was fine. Life was fine. It’s Friday, I tell myself, and life is fine.

_I’m fine._

* * *

“Why is he still hanging around?”

It seemed as though things wouldn’t be fine at all, however. Because though it is Friday, and Levi Ackerman was only supposed to be at the museum for one single performance, which had already come and gone, he is still here.

My pen presses so hard into the paper that it breaks through, a little bit. I stare daggers into the desk. I can feel Armin’s eyes on me, his nervous energy evident, hanging off of him like a coat. I feel bad, because he doesn’t know why I’m irritated. And it has nothing to do with him.

“Uh… w-who? Who’s hanging around?”

I glare at the poster that hangs above the desk, slate eyes staring back at me, uncaring. I grit my teeth, wave a hand in the general direction of the image of _him,_ and slide the paper away from me. “That asshole. I thought he was only here for one performance.”

Armin blinks up at the blown-up image for a moment, and for a moment his eyes light up. And then he winces, and looks down at me almost in apology. “Oh, yeah. Ackerman. I heard apparently that he agreed to a few more performances, even some solo ones. He’s in the area for a little while, I guess.”

“Ugh.”

“Got beef with the famous Levi Ackerman?” Armin asks, and though he means it as a joke, I don’t laugh.

“Yes,” I say, deadpan. “I have beef with Levi Ackerman.”

“Oh, um… I was just joking, but you don’t have to say anything, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but if you want to vent that’s cool, but also don’t feel obligated to—”

A small, wry laugh bubbles past my lips, and I give Armin a small pat on the back. He’s smiling sheepishly. “It’s cool, Armin. No worries. No boundaries overstepped, I’m the one who brought it up.”

I sigh, pulling another document toward me to be signed. Armin, Mikasa, and I have been assigned to the office for the day, strictly clerical work. I won’t lie and say that I’m sad for it. I’m grateful for the break in socializing with guests to the museum. Mikasa is filling forms out quietly at a desk tucked into the corner, and the only indication that I have that she’s listening is that her eyes flicker up to Armin and I every so often.

“It’s just…” I scrub the back of my hand against my eye. “He was such a _dick_ to me, you know? For absolutely no reason. And now he shows up, every morning, at _my_ coffee place, and doesn’t even say good _morning…_ And I wouldn’t even care, you know? But that’s not the only shit in my life that feels like it’s personally out to get me, and school sucks, and I’m so goddamn _sick_ of waking up exhausted after _eleven_ hours of sleep every night and being terrified of things and—”

I break myself off, half voluntarily and half because I realize that my eyes have started to water. Armin and Mikasa are just watching me quietly, and Armin seems as though he wants to say something, or reach out maybe. I sniff.

“Damn,” I say, laughing wryly. “Sorry. That was a lot. Kind of an overreaction. Sorry.”

Armin offers a sheepish smile, and closes the gap, patting his hand down on my shoulder. We’ve well forgotten about paperwork now. “Don’t worry,” he says, and his voice is genuine. “It’s alright to feel completely overwhelmed. You shouldn’t apologize for it. I really don’t think that there’s such thing as an overreaction; only different factors that play into why we feel the way that we do about certain things. And, well…” he trails off. “I’ll not lecture you. But really, don’t feel bad.”

I smile, feeling a bit awkward. “Thanks, Armin. You’re really sweet.”

I dab at the corner of my eye with the corner of my blazer’s sleeve, getting rid of any tears that threaten to spill out. I sigh. Armin offers me a small smile.

“I’m gonna go take a walk,” I say.

“I’ll join you.”

The quiet voice takes me by surprise, but I quickly shoot Mikasa a smile as she stands with me.

I don’t know Mikasa very well, not that I know anyone here very well yet. I do know that she’s quiet, soft-spoken, and a bit stand-offish (though not in a rude way). But she’s a very hard and dedicated worker, and is the type to help you out without you even having to ask.

“I’ll finish up the paperwork here, so don’t hurry back, okay?” Armin says, and I shoot him an incredulous look.

“No way, dude. I’m not going to dump all of my work on you just because I’m having a rough day.”

But he just smiles, twirling the pen around his index finger. “I’m a pro at paperwork, for real. I’ll have this done in no time— there’s honestly nothing you can do to stop me.”

I laugh softly, sniffing. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Thank you, Armin.” _I mean it._

He just smiles, and waves us away.

Mikasa is quiet now as we walk, but not the uncomfortable kind of silence. Mikasa and I could be very good friends, I think. I’m not one for small talk either.

I do have something to say, though, and I wait until we’ve neared a water fountain and a bench. I take a drink of water; she sits on the bench. I take a seat next to her, leaning back against the wall.

“I’m really sorry about that, it was super weird and unprofessional of me.”

In my peripheral vision, I see her shake her head. “Like Armin said, please don’t feel bad. We all feel these things. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

I give her a small smile. “Thanks.”

We sit in silence for another moment, watching the museum guests mill around, adults and children and teenagers.

“I honestly never thought that I would end up in a place like this,” I say softly, eyes wandering around. It’s weird to be saying this, an admission to someone I barely know. That almost makes it easier, somehow; she doesn’t know me. She didn’t know me before.

She doesn’t say anything, and so I continue. “I feel like… I don’t even know how I feel about it you know? Before, my life was completely mapped out for me. I knew exactly where I was going, and now it’s just… _poof._ Gone. And I feel super… I don’t know, lost I guess?”

She nods. “That makes sense,” she says quietly.

“It wasn’t good before, because I never got to make any decisions for myself, but now… now I almost miss it.”

The comfortable silence returns, but this time it’s her who breaks the silence.

“So, Levi Ackerman huh?”

I groan. “I don’t want to think about that asshole.”

She laughs softly, and it’s the most expressive I’ve ever seen her.

“What?” I ask, because there must be something more. She chews at the skin of her lip.

“He’s my cousin,” she says after a moment, and I feel the familiar stone’s weight of guilt drop down my throat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—”

She waves my apology off. “Don’t be. We aren’t really that close. Or, we haven’t known each other very long.” She sighs. “Our family history is kind of… I’d say complicated, but I think that _fucked up_ is probably more apt.”

She smiles wryly, and I laugh a little.

“I brought that up because I know how he can be. I also know that he’s like that to everyone, and although that doesn’t really make anything better… just know that him being like that has nothing to do with you. I don’t know if that’s helpful, but I know you mentioned that you were working through some other stuff right now…”

She trails off, watching me with unreadable dark eyes. I fiddle with the hem of my jacket sleeve, mulling over what she’s just said. She’s right in that it does make me feel a bit better. It also just solidifies the idea of him being a massive jerk-face in my mind.

“Thanks for saying that, Mikasa, honestly. I know it’s still an overreaction, but—”

She cuts me off with a raised hand, and though her following words are gently, her eyes hold a quiet storm. “I’m only gonna say this one more time, and then I’m never saying it again. You’re not overreacting.”

I give her a small smile. “Yeah.”

And then, with a familiarity that catches me completely off guard, she gives my shoulder a small, half-hearted punch. “You coming out for drinks tonight?”

I take a moment to think about it. I had told Armin that I would go, but the more I’ve thought about going, the _less_ I feel like going. I know it’s shitty, but I feel so drained from the week. I just want to go home, and turn on Netflix, and forget that I exist outside of my apartment.

Before I can answer, however, she stands, shooting me a glance over her shoulder. “Yeah, you’re coming. I’m DD, so I can give you a ride over, if you’d like. Just send me your address.”

I sigh, and although part of me wants to protest, to fabricate some sort of last minute excuse, I’m drawing nothing but blanks, and I cannot help the way that my mouth is twitching upward, all on it’s own.

Maybe making friends isn’t all that bad.

* * *

_“You’re really gonna wear jeans?”_

Sasha, somehow, had gotten a hold of the information that I was going out for drinks, and had promptly thereafter invited herself over to my apartment, and subsequently into my snack cupboard. And, as much as I had protested at first, I really didn’t mind. Sasha was more well-versed in outings than me, and the only real reason I _had_ a snack cupboard was for her.

Now, however, I was regretting any benevolent decision I had made with her in mind. Terrorizing my snack cupboard wasn’t enough for her, it seems. Now she has taken to terrorizing my wardrobe as well.

“We’re just going to a bar, Sasha, not a fucking club.”

I sit on the edge of my bed, watching as she rifles through my things, tossing things through the air with no decorum at all. I had initially picked out a pair of loose black jeans, a deep maroon sweater, layered over a collared top. Sasha insisted I was not dressed enough for the occasion.

“What about this, though?”

She lifts something over her head for me to see, not even turning around. I nearly choke on my own spit.

“Are you _kidding me?_ I’m not wearing the equivalent of _lingerie_ to the _bar._ Where I will be drinking with my _coworkers.”_

At this she turns around, frowning. She holds the top, which is essentially nothing more than lace held together by bone wiring, up to her torso. “It’s so hot though.”

I chuck a loose sock at her head. “I know. That’s why I bought it. _For clubbing.”_

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so boring. No wonder you can’t get laid.”

“Oh my— Holy fuck Sash, you gotta let go of me getting laid! It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I _do not want to.”_

She holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, alright. I’ll stop pestering you.” She smiles impishly. “If you wear this tonight.”

“I genuinely do not know why I’m friends with you.”

“Because I’m cute as a button and also amazing in so many ways!”

I grimace. “Or something.”

My phone buzzes, and I look down, frowning when I see the text notification. I don’t really talk to that many people. _So who the hell is texting me?_

**[Maybe: Mikasa]:** _Hey. This is Mikasa. Just wondering if you still needed a ride?_

_6:08 pm_

I had completely forgotten, somehow, that I’d given her my number. I glance up at Sasha, who is continuing her rampage through my innocent closet. This might actually be perfect.

**Vasya:** _Hey, Mikasa! If at all possible, a ride would be great. I have gas $$$_

**Mikasa _:_** _No need. Hange was headed out for the night too so they gave me money haha._

**Mikasa _:_** _They said they were going to write it off as work expenses_

**Vasya:** _Oh my god_.

 **Mikasa:** _I know. How do they still have a job_?

**Vasya:** _LOLOLOL_

**Mikasa:** _What’s your address? Just picked up Armin_.

I shoot her a text with the address of my complex, unable to stay the evil smile which has found its home on my lips.

 **Mikasa:** _be there in ten_.

Sasha is still _not-so-innocently_ rifling through my things, and so she doesn’t see the pillow that sails through the air, hitting her square in the head. She squeaks out a protest, turning to look at me, frown etched into her face.

“What the hell, man. I didn’t even say anything.”

I jab my thumb at the bedroom door. “You gotta leave, friend. My ride is almost here.”

“Wha—We still have so much of your closet to get through though!”

I place my hand on her shoulder, voice solemn when I say: “If you assault my closet any more, I’m going to get a restraining order.”

Her mouth gapes, and she looks taken aback. And then her lower lip juts out, and she snatches up the lace top, stands. “Fine. But I’m taking this.”

I roll my eyes, and she continues, her voice thick with mock-gravity. “I shall not forget this grace transgression.”

I laugh softly, standing and pushing her toward the door. “Mhm, sure, whatever you say,”

She takes a moment to gather all of her things, and then pauses once more at the front door to my apartment. “I’ll be seeing you in court.”

“Jesus—Get out of here, Sash!”

Her face breaks into a grin. “Kay’ bye! Love you have fun sendsneakypicsofanysexypeopleyousee—”

“Goodbye, Sasha.”

Once Sasha disappears down the hallway, I check the time on my phone; Mikasa should be pulling up any moment now. I grab a jacket and my crossbody, tuck my phone into my pocket. I take a deep breath, because it feels as though I’m heading into battle, my heart is pounding so fast. And then I hear a car honk outside, and my phone pings a message, and there’s no time to be nervous, anymore.

 _Besides,_ I tell myself determinedly.

_What could go wrong?_

**Author's Note:**

> Levi entrance next chapter hehehehe


End file.
